


Improper Introductions

by OriginalCeenote



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/F, Femslash, Ficlet, Seduction, Vampire AU, tumblr ask prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: Ororo didn't wait for an introduction. That was about the LEAST scandalous thing she could be accused of.Emma found her refreshing.
Relationships: Emma Frost/Ororo Munroe
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	Improper Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> szajnie on Tumblr prompted me to write this. I enjoyed it immensely.

3\. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

10\. A hello/good-bye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it.

The reception line felt endless, stretching down the aisle as the funeral guests exited the cathedral. Emma suppressed a sigh and pasted on her most grateful, serene smile as she shook hands with another of her late father’s associates. Regrettably, he smelled like cabbage and pipe tobacco, both an affront to her nose.

“My darling Emma,” he told her, grasping her gloved hand firmly. “We’ve meant to stop by. The missus inquired about your health.”

“Mr. Leland. That's so kind of you to be concerned. You are both ever so thoughtful.”

She found to her consternation that he hadn’t released her hand yet, and she fought the urge to tug it - tear it - from his grasp when his thumb stroked her knuckles. “When will you be home?”

“The repast will be at two o’clock,” Emma told him, keeping her smile in place, even though revulsion churned in her gut. 

“Oh, I meant so that we could stop by some time after all the dust has settled, during your time of need.”

Yet she saw it in his eyes, and just by skimming over the surface of his thoughts, that his wife would not likely accompany him to her home. This time, his voice was syrupy and dripping with suggestion.

“You need sympathy and tender care during this difficult time-”

“Of course she does,” a soft, smooth, and husky alto agreed, and Emma admired the cheek of its owner for interrupting him without qualm. “Although Miss Frost may also require a bit of space and quiet to properly mourn her loss, and to reflect, Mr. Leland. Especially after this morning. I always find that funerals are such huffy affairs.”

Emma looked past Harry Leland, who dropped her hand in surprise, and found a tall, elegant, and familiar woman garbed head to toe in pristine black. Tourmaline blue eyes with a catlike slant gazed out from beneath the delicate netting that cascaded over her face from her stylish cap; it sat atop her blazing, silvery-white hair that was curled and pinned up into an elaborate pompadour. The bodice of her gown was snug, molded to her generous curves, its puffed sleeves, bustle and short train lovingly trimmed with black scalloped lace. The strap of her reticule hung over her arm and she gripped a folded fan, watching Emma. Musing. She cocked her head, and Emma risked a tantalizing glimpse into her mind, soft as a caress.

And came up empty. Excitement and interest made her heartbeat skip.

“Oh, er…” Emma’s brows beetled when she realized that she was staring open-mouthed.

“We met at Professor Xavier’s parlor last week?”

They had, albeit briefly. Charles’ servant ushered her inside quickly, noticing her distraught demeanor and the tearstains on her cheeks. Emma made her apologies to his assembled company as she interrupted their casual tea, and she bobbed a curtsy. 

“Good afternoon, Professor. I am so sorry to intrude uninvited-”

“Nonsense. You are always welcome in my home, my dear. Your father is one of my staunchest and most esteemed friends, and that makes you a daughter to me, as well. Please, come. Come in.”

“I will not be staying long, sir, but thank you kindly. I need to return home quickly, as Father is unwell. I am sorry to bring such grave news, but -” Grief overwhelmed her. “He asked me to bring you this book. He said it had special significance to you, and he would like for you to have it.”

Emma handed him a leatherbound journal, and Charles’s soft smile faltered, but he nodded up at her and accepted it. “Is there anything I can do for you, my dear girl?”

“Just this. Just please accept it. It was my father’s most ardent wish, sir.”

“Keep in touch. Give Winston my fondest regards.”

“I will, sir. Good afternoon, Professor.”

“Good afternoon, dear Emma.”

“Be well, darling,” a voice behind her said. “And take care.” This was offered without a proper introduction.

The woman sat on the fainting couch, garbed in a black day gown devoid of decoration, and the fichu covered her all the way up to her neck. _Stunning._ She was absolutely stunning, despite being obviously in mourning.

Emma’s voice came out in a harsh, tight rasp. “Thank you.” And she fled the house for the quiet of her father’s carriage and wept the entire way home, returning to his side to carry out the rest of his vigil.

“We met, but… we were not properly introduced?”

“Then I regret to tell you that I have the slight advantage. Charles told me a bit about you, my dear, but you are correct.” She knew the professor and used his Christian name; that in and of itself was remarkable. Even a bit _scandalous_. This woman boldly stepped around Harry, cutting off his indignant squawk, and she stepped in to Emma, taking her hand in her soft grip.

“You have my deepest condolences, Emma Frost.” And she leaned in and lifted her veil, kissing Emma’s cheek. Emma flushed at the scant contact, and her smile returned.

“Oh. Thank you, Miss-”

“Munroe. Ororo Munroe. My father hailed from the Americas. My mother grew up in Senegal.”

Harry backed away, harrumphing at being so gamely dismissed.

Emma sighed in exasperation. “Thank you,” she muttered. “His condolences were growing tedious.”

“And they were not free, I suspect.”

Emma flushed again, this time letting her eyes flit down to the floor. Then, she noticed that the reception line was growing congested in the anteroom of the church, bottlenecking as people waited to pay their respects.

“My apologies, darling. I will call on you.”

“Yes, please. You are welcome to visit our home. I’m, er…” Emma floundered. _Those eyes._ Those incredible eyes. As those words left Emma’s mouth, she saw triumph flicker over Ororo’s face, and she squeezed Emma’s fingers.

Her thumb stroked Emma’s knuckles, copying Harry’s gesture to the letter, but this time, it didn’t repulse her.

“Soon,” Ororo promised in lieu of a salutation, and she leaned in and kissed her again. She smelled like gardenias and sandalwood. Emma leaned into it, letting her own lips purse to make brief contact with Ororo’s flawless skin. And before Emma could blink, Ororo’s magnificent figure was descending the church steps, and her attendant was raising her parasol over her head to shield her from the hazy afternoon sunlight.

*

From then on, Ororo seemed to appear everywhere.

At the park, when Emma accompanied Cordelia, her eldest sister, one one of her constitutional evening walks. At the library, when Ororo noticed Emma picking up a volume of poetry and suggested she read the latest, scandalous novel by Mary Shelley. Emma took it home and devoured it in its entirety within two days. At the milliner’s, when she was purchasing a new bonnet, and again at Emma’s seamstress’ shop when she had her measurements taken for a new ball gown, despite that they were in mourning.

Hazel had tutted at her. “You will still have a Season, my dear. We are in mourning, but you will not lack what your sisters had.”

“I would not find the lack of a ball lacking in any way, Mother.”

“Don’t be impudent. Go. Into the carriage with you, now. Tell Janet I expect something in pink, or even blue to match your eyes.”

 _Like a child in pinafores and rag curls_ , Emma thought, shuddering in distaste.

But Emma went to her fitting, showing up right on the dot. And as she left her carriage and entered the store, she heard an enticing laugh.

“You’ll break the strings if you lace me up that tight.”

“You have such a lovely waist. We need to show it off to perfection. It’s such a pleasure, dressing you.”

“Undressing me is infinitely more pleasurable, I assure you.”

Emma’s eyes widened, and she felt her face go up in flames. _The cheek!_ Only one person could be that bold.

“Just a few more buttons to do this up. Turn around, step out… oh, my heavens. Let me see it in the light. Look at you, Miss Munroe. You are an absolute _vision._.”

Emma waited for the two of them to step out from behind the changing screens. Janet greeted her breathlessly.

“Good afternoon, Emma, you’re just in time, and Ororo and I are just finishing up. Come and look at this beauty!”

Emma didn’t know if she meant the dress, or the woman wearing it, but either pronouncement was correct.

The dress was cream colored, a stark contrast against Ororo’s dark skin. Puffed, off-the-shoulder cap sleeves and a deep sweetheart neckline drew the eye immediately to her bosom, ripe and enticing, pushed up by the corset she wore underneath. The dress was bustled and flowed in elegant puffs all the way down to the floor. The sash was a deep turquoise blue. Emma’s breath caught. The skin the dress revealed looked touchably soft.

“Perhaps I will skip my Season. No one will sign my dance card even if I attend every ball, with you looking like that in that dress,” Emma blurted out.

Ororo smiled, pleased as a cat who got the cream. “Nonsense. I would not hear of it. You must attend, darling Emma. Every ball. I will find them tedious without you.”

“You will not have time to keep me company. You will have too many beaux to keep you occupied.”

“You have just described a dreadful night, indeed. Please, promise that you will attend and spare me from it, Emma. I insist.”

Janet laughed nervously as she fussed over the gown, adjusting the poufs and fastening a matching choker dripping with lace and pearls at Ororo’s throat. “What a shocking thing to say!” Yet she was delighted with the gossip fodder they provided. Janet was enjoying her afternoon’s work _thoroughly_.

*

The ball was as tedious as Ororo promised. Ororo and Emma’s dance cards filled up quickly as they hobnobbed and sipped punch. Ororo eschewed the canapes, but she accepted a small glass of cognac. Ororo kept Emma close, waiting for her every time around the periphery of the ballroom floor. Her cool hand threaded itself through the crook of her arm each time. She smelled like sandalwood again; the heady fragrance tickled Emma’s senses.

“It’s a lovely night,” Ororo commented. “Did you notice the moon?”

“I did.” Through the carriage window, it shone full, silvery and brilliant, putting the twinkling stars surrounding it to shame.

“Would you like to see it again? It’s grown so stuffy in here.”

The idea of getting away from the crowd appealed to Emma immensely. “Lead the way.”

“Come with me.”

Ororo took her hand, and they edged through the crowd, nodding to a server on the way out of the ballroom. Maximoff Manor was remote and sat upon ten acres, boasting a shallow pond a half a mile from the house. Ororo led her down the corridor, lit by small sconces.

“I’ve never been here before.”

“The chamber they use as a coat room has a balcony,” Ororo promised. “Just this way.”

Their steps sped up, and Emma giggled with the feeling of doing something forbidden. Surely the other guests would wonder where they went? Emma shrugged it off. It wasn’t like Emma had left the party unchaperoned with a gentleman. Just Ororo, in her fashionable gown that failed to be demure but that succeeded in catching every eye in the house.

The coat room smelled a bit musty, and cloaks lay heaped across the bed and hung from pegs and chairs. Ororo led Emma out onto the balcony, which overlooked the garden.

“Oh,” Emma breathed. Moonlight picked out every shining detail in silver, making the pond glow.

“It cannot hold a candle to you.”

“What?” Emma risked looking at Ororo, who was standing so close, smelling so sweet. Looking so tempting.

“Your beauty makes the moon jealous, Emma Grace.”

Emma scoffed, chuckling and shaking her head, but Ororo nodded, and her hand drifted up to gently tip Emma’s chin up, making her look at her and _truly see her_.

Something unnameable gleamed in Ororo’s eyes. “It does,” she pressed.

“You. You flatter me.”

“I could stand here all night, offering sweet nothings and compliments, but that would bore you, certainly. I know that about you by now, darling.”

Ororo stroked a stray, curling tendril of Emma’s hair back from her cheek, where it tried to blow across her lips in the errant breeze. Emma shivered when Ororo caressed the contour of her face with the backs of her knuckles, feather-light.

“And I would never want to bore you, Emma.”

Emma shook her head, and her mouth felt parched. “Y-you c-could never. Ever. Bore me.”

“Good.”

Perhaps it was the arousal curling in Emma’s gut, new and foreign. Perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight, but Ororo’s eyes flickered, the tourmaline blue shifting briefly to _scarlet_ , and then back again. Ororo licked her lips and let her fingertips trail down the column of Emma’s delicate throat, tracing the dewy, pulsing vein.

“Kiss me.” Emma’s voice was throaty. Desperate. Ororo was already so close that Emma saw her pupils dilate, and the minute flare of her nostrils before she leaned in mere centimeters and crushed Emma’s mouth beneath hers. Her lips were plump, soft, and ripe as plums. The kiss was filled with heat as they shared breath, and Emma’s heart pounded within her chest for several dizzying seconds. Her hand flew up to cup Ororo’s nape, and she felt Ororo’s hands slide around her waist. Her breath stuttered out in a surprised huff as Ororo backed her against the wall, just as Emma’s knees felt like they would give out. Ororo made a pleased, desperate noise as she tilted her head and deepened the kiss, tracing the seam of her lips with her tongue. Emma moaned, greedy for more, and she tentatively opened for her. Ororo’s tongue swept inside, caressing hers with velvety heat.

They paused, jerking apart at the sound of a carriage door slamming outside. Emma was breathing hard. Ororo was looking very, very pleased with herself.

“I’m going to burn my dance card in the fireplace.”

“You will _not_.”

“Try and stop me. Better yet… come home with me.”


End file.
